


C'mon Baby, And Rescue Me

by Pinkerton



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkerton/pseuds/Pinkerton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kent Parson keeps showing up right when Eric Bittle needs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'mon Baby, And Rescue Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shortlimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortlimbs/gifts).



Bitty’s Sophomore Year

Spring Break

The lone paisley Vera Bradley duffle swings by on the carousel yet again. Bitty shakes his head, sighs, and officially gives up hope that his luggage is going to magically appear. He stretches his legs as he stands, and starts heading to the baggage claims office through the mostly empty corridors.

Half an hour later and still without his bag, he slumps onto a metal bench by the men’s room and pulls out his phone, texting Jack that he’ll be stuck in Vegas at least overnight, so please don’t brave a blizzard to go to the airport for no reason tomorrow morning.

Bitty turns over his options in his head – his airline won’t cover the cost of a hotel room since the cancellations aren’t their fault, and the way the news is talking about New England’s weather, it could be a couple days before he can get home. He taps his browser and begins to pull up his credit card balance. Maybe he can do one night at a cheap hotel and then sleep at the airport.

His balance more or less laughs at him, in a numeric sort of way.

Great.

Bitty tips his head back against the wall behind him. Normally he’d call the bank of M.O.M., but coming out over the break had been rougher than he’d expected, and he can’t quite bring himself to ask his parents for anything at the moment.

“Shit,” he says, covering his face with his hands.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzes with Jack’s reply. Bitty reads it, rereads it, and groans. _No, no, no,_ he thinks, while typing out “You’re the best, thank you so much.”

Apparently, Kent Parson is going to pick him up in 30 minutes.

Bitty immediately calls Lardo.

Before she even gets out a “hi” he’s pouring out the story of what he overheard at Epikegster. Lardo, bless her heart, takes it in stride and talks him down from his panic. “Bits,” Lardo says gently, “Kicking his ass at pong doesn’t mean I know the guy. It sounds like he went for some super low blows, and I kind of want to kick his ass right now, but the guy is dropping everything to do Jack a favor and help you out. You want to assume that maybe Jack knows what he’s doing and wouldn’t suggest you crash at a total psychopath’s house?”

Bitty sniffs. “I didn’t say psychopath. Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Weak sauce, Bits. Enjoy your slumber party with the NHL’s most dreamy star,” Lardo says, hanging up on him.

Just as Bitty tucks his phone into his pocket, a silver Miata pulls up to the curb, and Kent Parson steps out of the driver’s seat, in all his backwards snapback glory. “Welcome to Vegas, Bittle,” he says, waving a hand grandly toward long-term parking.

Bitty tries real hard not to roll his eyes, but fails when he goes to stash his bag in the trunk and sees the “PARSE90” plate on the bumper. He manages to get his face under control by the time he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Hi, Parson. Thank you so much for helping me out, you know, I never would have even suggested it, but Jack just went ahead and called you and now I feel really bad that I’ve put you out---“

“Nah, stop,” Kent says, cutting Bitty off as he maneuvers them into traffic. “It’s cool, man. I have a few days break and my guest bed’s mattress is insanely good. Friend of Zimms is a friend of mine, you know?”

Bitty blinks. “Likewise, I’m sure.” He tries not to gawk as they drive by giant hotels and all the bright lights, no less impressive upon second viewing.

“Now, Kent says, swinging into the slower traffic downtown, “as for entertainment tonight, are we clubbing with beautiful women, beautiful men, or both?”

Bitty’s jaw drops. “….men?”

“Cool, I’ll get my assistant to put us on some lists. You got anything to wear?”

“To wear?” Bitty says, realizing he keeps asking questions, but too stunned to do anything about it.

“It’s a pretty ritzy club. I’ll get Amelia to send over some clothes for you. Any particular feelings about Gucci?”

Bitty just stares at Kent, as Kent swerves around a pedestrian and pulls up to a garage entrance. “I’m kidding, Bittle. I’ll get her to bring some stuff from Express or something. On me, of course.”

“I couldn’t….” Bitty says faintly.

“Please. I’m rich a shit,” Kent says, hopping out of the now stopped car and tossing his keys to a uniformed attendant.

“You were once described to me as a modest bro,” Bitty says dryly, exiting the car and going to gather his bag.

Kent laughs, and it’s brighter than Bitty expected. “I’ve been described as many things, Bits. Can I call you Bits?” Kent grabs his bag and they head to the elevators.

“Sure, but nicknames mean explaining why exactly Gucci is off the table?”

Kent laughs again, hard enough to snort at the end, and hits the button for the Penthouse. Bitty has to focus not to stare at him, his mind going into overdrive to square away Kent Parson, master of the clever Sports Center ready sound bite, Kent Parson, boy who left Jack a mess after Epikegster, and Kent Parson, bro laughing like a huge nerd beside him.

The elevator rises, and Kent’s voice cuts through Bitty’s thoughts. “How’d you wind up stranded here anyway?”

“I spent a few days with a friend in California,” Bitty answers. Chowder had been such a sight for sore eyes after the mess of his time in Georgia. Bitty had cried on his shoulder his first night in San Diego, pouring out his broken heart about his parents’ and his awkward, halting coming out talk, and the next day Chowder and Farmer took him out to see the Pacific for the first time and eat fish tacos. They’d spent a day in L.A. before heading over to Vegas so Bitty could see the strip and lose $20 right quick in the slots before his flight to Boston. Or, the flight he’d be on had Mother Nature not decided to set up Boston for 2 feet of snow.

“Nice,” Kent says, as the doors slide open soundlessly.

Moments later, Bitty is standing in Kent’s living room, staring out the floor to ceiling windows. There are mountains in the distance, and lights glinting below. “What floor is this?” Bitty asks.

“Thirty-second,” Kent answers from the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Bitty answers, turning to face where Kent’s voice is coming from. He walks over to the kitchen, pulling up a stool at the counter. Kent is adding lime slices to two full, slightly fizzing glasses.

“It’s just seltzer,” he explains, sliding a glass to Bitty. “The booze is in the closet to your left if you want any, but I gotta warn you, we’ll probably be drinking plenty tonight.”

“I’m not 21 yet, but—oh my goodness, is that Kit?” he asks, as a giant white cat saunters into the room and hops up on the counter top, butting its head against Kent’s hand.

“You’ll be fine,” he says. “How do you know my cat’s name?”

“Your cat is internet famous, Parson.”

Kent grins. “Yeah, I know, I just like hearing it.”

Bitty chokes on his seltzer, just a little.

* * * *

Kent’s assistant, a harried looking middle-aged woman who was, as it turns out, the Parson family’s babysitter years ago, did good on Bitty’s clothing. He can hear her yelling at Kent about something through the closed bedroom door. Bitty fusses with the sleeves of his maroon button down, and takes a moment to breathe. He’s in Vegas, staying with an NHL superstar who may or may not be a total jerk but is definitely very, very hot, and he is about to go to his very first gay club with this very, very hot professional athlete millionaire. 

He regrets not adding vodka to his seltzer immensely.

* * * *

The club is banging, Bitty’s new jeans fit like a dream, and Kent Parson is causing heads to turn as he stalks through the crowd, Bitty trailing behind him.

Bitty can’t blame them – Kent’s got charisma. Bitty can admit that, and add “charismatic” to his list of things he is learning about Kent Parson. The list already includes “is prone to wandering around his apartment without a shirt displaying abs that could cut glass,” “drives like a bat out of hell,” and “will only drink green juice if hectored into it by his former babysitter turned assistant.”

And also, “totally comfortable at a gay club”. Huh.

Kent pulls Bitty back to a quieter corner with some low seats, giving him time to get his bearings. “You think this is ok?” he asks, raising his voice slightly over the music.

“Yes, lord, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen so many good looking men in one place.”

“But I’m the hottest one, right?”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re looking very fine, Mr. Parson. But, aren’t you afraid someone’s gonna snap your picture?”

“Nah, all the employees sign NDAs and it’s members only admittance. It’s cool. Do whatever.”

“You’re...a member.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re…”

“I like people,” he says cheerfully.

“That’s not super helpful and I -- oh my word, did that man just take off his shirt?”

Kent looks confused. “Bits, have you never been to a gay club?”

Bitty’s eyes follow the shirtless man as he answers Kent. “I just came out to my parents ten days ago.”

“Ok, bit of a non sequitur, there, but yeah, everyone’s gonna get kind of naked and dance a lot. Me included. Is that cool?” Kent looks a little worried.

Bitty’s eyes dart away from the shirtless man to the tall guy coming in the club entrance. He does a double take. “Oh my god. Parson, is that---“

“Yeah, it is. Want me to introduce you?”

“I’m in heaven,” Bitty says, looking dazed.

Kent stands, tugging Bitty up. “Nah, just Vegas. Let’s see your moves, Bits.”

* * * *

Bitty wakes up in Kent’s insanely plush guest bed the next morning with a splitting headache and glitter still stuck to his arms.

Worth it.

 

 

Graduation

Bitty goes for it.

Jack doesn’t kiss him back.

“Bittle,” Jack says, pulling his face away from Bitty’s and gently moving Bitty’s hands from his shoulders to grasp them lightly. “I can’t.”

Bitty drops his gaze from Jack’s face to where their hands are joined and wills himself not to cry. “You’re straight, I know, I’m so sorry Jack, I just couldn’t let you leave Samwell without telling you how I feel and I—“

“I’m not straight.”

Bitty snaps his head up. “What?”

“I thought you knew,” Jack says. When Bitty just blinks at him, he adds, “You’re close with Kent.”

Bitty casts about in his mind for what on earth his still developing, mostly text-based friendship with Kent has to do with Jack liking men. He can’t see how it is connected.

“I don’t see how that’s….” he trails off as he thinks of Kent’s occasional, very early morning drunk texts about an ex who put him through hell years ago and….oh. Oh!

  
“Oh!” Bitty says, pulling his hands away from Jack’s in shock. “No! You?”

“Yeah, he didn’t tell you?”

“Oh my god. You’re the nameless ex!”

“Uh, he might have others?”

“But Jack, if you’re….why not me?” Bitty asks, his voice breaking at the end of the question.

“I can’t do hockey _and_ a boyfriend,” Jack says. “And I can’t ask you to wait for me, because I don’t know how long it could be before I’m ready to be out.”

“Maybe we could keep it secret?” Bitty asks, pleadingly.

“Would that work for you?” Jack asks, with a slight waver in his voice. “I could never hold your hand or kiss you outside the house. No traveling together. Lying to people you love.”

Bitty shakes his head. “No. No, that wouldn’t work for me.”

“Me either. But I can’t deal with hockey and being out at the same time. I’m sorry, Bitty.”

“Oh lord, you called me Bitty. Now I know this is a real conversation.” Bitty sighs. “Okay. I mean, it’s not really okay, but I get it. But…Jack, could you hold me for a little bit? Just this once?” 

Jack nods, and wraps his arms around Bitty, pulling him firmly against his chest. The familiar smells of his aftershave and a little bit of sweat wrap around Bitty.

  
It’s not enough, when he pulls away a few minutes later. Jack runs his finger along Bitty’s chin, making him shiver before he says, “Your mom invited me to come down to Georgia for the 4th of July.”

“Please come.”

“Okay.”

They get up and walk out of Bitty’s room, and Jack puts his duffle in his car and drives away from the Haus. 

He doesn’t look back, and Bitty doesn’t wave. He walks back into the Haus, pulls out his phone, and calls Kent.

The first meeting of the “Sad about Jack Zimmermann Club,” an exclusive group of two, meets at Kent’s shitty cabin on a spectacular lake in the Adirondacks two days later. Bitty spends 3 days blissfully drunk, teaches Kent how to actually fish—no man should get into his twenties and not know how to cast while holding a beer--and gets to hear the story about the time Jack started a small fire at his billet family’s house because he put a frozen pizza in the oven with the cardboard still under it.

It’s kind of perfect.

 

 

 

The 4th of July

Jack’s trip to Georgia is fine.

Jack turns his weird, Canadian charm on full force, and the church ladies and Bittle family alike fawn all over him. The man is not without a full glass of sweet tea or a plate of pie the entire weekend.

  
He and Bitty talk about hockey and baking and Samwell and do not touch each other. They sleep in the same room, Jack on Bitty’s bed and Bitty on an air mattress, and it’s fine. It’s fine. Jack does hug him when he leaves though, and he smells exactly like he did at graduation.

It’s fine.

Two days after Jack leaves, three singing telegrams, a massive Edible Arrangement, a giant Aces mascot plushie, and two tickets to Taylor Swift’s Atlanta show arrive at Chez Bittle.

  
When the tour date rolls around, Kent flies in and the two of them hit World of Coca Cola first. Bitty bats his eyelashes as he hands Kent a glass of Beverly in the tasting room.

  
Kent assures him retribution will be epic.

 

 

 

 

 

Junior Year, February

Jack’s Housewarming.

Bitty’s Friday class ends early, so he’s on the road to Providence well ahead of schedule, 6 pies safely nestled into bakery boxes and tucked into the backseat. He didn’t think Jack would ever get around to having a housewarming, and now that it’s here, Bitty’s looking forward to it. If he gets there early, he might get some private time with Jack before the hoards arrive.

(When he got his invite, Bitty had asked if any hockey royalty was going to show up. 

“No,” Jack said.

“But isn’t Kent coming?”

Jack shrugged. “I stand by my previous remark.”

Kent made the best noises when Bitty told him about it on Skype.)

The drive to Providence flies by and Bitty’s soon at Jack’s door, pies stacked in his arms and the handles of a bag of serving utensils in his mouth. He sticks his elbow out to steady himself on the door, and it swings open. He walks in, carefully making his way to the kitchen.

Jack is there, kissing a tall, dark-haired boy next to the refrigerator.

Bitty drops the pies and _flees_.

Jack chases him down the stairs and to his car. “Bittle, wait. C’mon, Bittle-- _Bitty, stop_!”

Eric whirls around, fury in his eyes, and jabs Jack in the chest with his finger. “I though you couldn’t do hockey and a boyfriend.”

Jack cringes. “So did I.”

Bitty draws back, crossing his arms and leaning against the driver’s side of the car. “So who is he? Is he your--your fuck buddy? A one night stand?”

“He’s Alec,” Jack says softly.

“Alec....Toussaint?” Bitty says, gasping. “Oh my god, you’re sleeping with your goalie?”

Jack starts to blush. “It’s not…it’s not just sex. I didn’t mean to lie to you about not doing hockey and a boyfriend. I just…I didn’t expect to meet Alec.”

Bitty stares at him.

Jack continues, “We roomed together at camp, and things kind of went from there. If you weren’t so mad at me you’d probably like him.”

Bitty scoffs. “Yeah, probably. You have pretty good taste in men.”

Jack smiles hesitantly. “Yeah, guess so.”

“And he’s okay with staying in the closet?”

Jack nods.

Bitty sighs. “I’m starting to go from really mad to really embarrassed, so I’m gonna leave—“

“Aww, Bittle, if you leave, who will help me clean up all the pies?” 

“Ha, ha, Mr. Zimmermann. Jack, I want to be at the party, but I don’t know if I can do this.”

Jack holds out his hand. “Come at least say hi?”

Bitty closes his eyes tight, and reaches out.

* * * *

Of course, Alec is delightful, and smart, and funny, and chirps Jack mercilessly.

The bastard.

Kent shows up to the party two hours late, takes one look at Bitty, says “You are clearly not having nearly enough fun, get your jacket,” and turns on his heel, walking right back out the door.

Bitty texts Jack goodbye from Kent’s front seat two minutes later.

* * * *

“I didn’t even know Providence had a dive bar,” Bitty slurs, draining his fourth beer.

“You hang out with the worst people,” Kent says, signaling the bartender for another round.

“You’re right,” Bitty says, slapping his hand against the bar. “Jack is the worst.”

“The woooooooorst!” Kent warbles.

“THE WOOOOOOOOORST!” they shout together.

The bartender gave up shushing them an hour ago when Kent started sliding him $100 bills.

Bitty looks down at his full beer. “He’s the worst but his boyfriend is so cute. He’s so cute, Kent.”

“You’re cute,” Kent answers.

“I’m not cute enough,” Bitty says, bitterly. “Not as cute as, as…as freakin' Alec Toussaint. Is he Canadian? I bet he’s Canadian.”

“Canadians,” Kent says, shaking his head. “Wait,” he says. “I had a point. It’s…I was…you’re cute, Bits! You totally are.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you just feel sorry for me.”

Kent puts down his beer, grabs Bitty by the face, and kisses him.

They’re both breathless when they part.

“S’not pity,” Kent says. 

“Take me home, Parson,” Bitty answers, leaning back in.

* * * *

When Kent finds out it’s Bitty’s first time, he takes it as a personal challenge.

Bitty come three times that night, and two more in the morning, and may or may not have sent out a bragging text or two in between.

Ransom and Holster manage to have “Congratulations” balloons sent to the hotel before check out.

Best trip to Providence ever.

* * * *

Kent drives him back to Samwell in the afternoon, their fingers tangled together on the front seat divider for most of the ride. It takes Bitty about twenty minutes to extricate himself from both Kent’s arms and the front seat, but eventually they’re on the front porch of the Haus, Bitty’s duffle on the floor beside them, arms around each other’s waists.

The catcalls from inside die off quicker than Bitty would have expected.

“Well, this is me,” Bitty says, tipping his head toward the front door.

Kent gives him a little squeeze. “Kiss me one more time?”

Bitty obliges, and can hear the shutter snap of Kent’s phone as their lips part. The photo is sweet—Kent’s phone is good enough that it caught Bitty’s freckles and Kent’s pale eyelashes, and the setting sun behind them.

“Aww,” Bitty coos. “Send it to me?”

“I was gonna tweet it,” Kent says, pausing with his thumb over the upload button.

“Oh my god,” Bitty breathes.

“Is that okay?” he asks, ducking down to kiss Bitty once again.

Bitty brings his hand up between them and gently pushes them apart, his fingers pressed to Kent’s lips. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Kent nods, and Bitty can feel his smile spreading, even if he can’t see it.

They both turn and look at Kent’s phone as he pushes his thumb down.

About 5 seconds later, Shitty’s voice booms down from upstairs. “HOLY SHIT, YOU FUCKING BEAUTS!”

Kent laughs, and Bitty kisses him again, thin winter sun shining down on them as Kent’s phone buzzes and buzzes in his hand.

 

 


End file.
